


Determine what might be, from what will be

by Cinnie



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M, Gen, Rumpelstilskin could have been a good man, Rumple feels, What if?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-03-27
Updated: 2014-12-25
Packaged: 2018-01-17 04:07:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,440
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1373371
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cinnie/pseuds/Cinnie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>How does the seer determine what will and what won't be? Or does she, like Rumpelstiltskin, endeavor to fit the future to her wishes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

The rains had come heavily that year, it was a relief and a curse, for the rains dampened the fires of the frontlines, giving the illusion of safety, and a curse for everything was muck and mud. Several people had already died due to the unrelenting rain. Rotten food, sickness, fatal or crippling falls, they had seen them all this year.

The Spinner Rumpelstiltskin was walking home from town, the slip of paper that was his hope held reverently in against his chest in an attempt to keep it dry. He was taking one of the back ways, hoping to use the time to come up with a good way to let Milah know he would be leaving in the morning.

They were new married, she a lass from two villages away who’d fallen on hard times and had wished to make a new start. Rumpelstiltskin could quite understand that, and when she started flirting with him of all people, gathered his courage to court her.

He was so caught up in his thoughts that he jumped and fell flat on his arse when the shriek of both woman and beast rang out, echoing oddly about the valley.  

He’d barely gotten his feet back under himself before he was running and slipping further up the path, only to freeze again at the sight that met him. Mora, mother of little Moraine and a recent widow of the disease rain brought, was halfway down the side of the valley, were the edge of the road has simply washed away, her donkey was in a dead panic, miring itself further into the side, causing more mud to shove down at Mora and her little daughter, whom the woman held tightly to her chest as she clung to edge of the sliding wagon.

“Mora!” He called, even as he searched frantically for a way to either haul her up, or get near enough to her without condemning himself. Finally, his brain connected several trees on which he could brace himself and use to both get down to the woman, and to hopefully crawl back up. Plan decided he began his decent, calling out to Mora again, when he realized she’d never answered.

This time she heard him, renewing her cries, even as little Moraine wails joined her mother’s efforts. Above him, even as he kept his eyes on his targeted trees, he could here others gathering at the edge of the road, some called that they would bring rope and Rumple risked a wave of his hand to show he’d heard. Closer and closer he got, and the way got steeper and the mud slicker.

Finally! There at last, he’d reached the nearest tree to where the where the wagon was, looking back he realized that he was nearly five trees further down than he’d originally estimated, the mud was moving much quicker than he’d thought.

There was still a space between him and the wagon and no convenient trees to get him there, and then he realized; of course, his cloak! Dragging the muddy, sodden thing off, he quickly pulled it out to its longest length. As he did so, something wet and cold hit the side of his he’d, luckily he didn’t jump, glancing down in growing happiness at the end of a rope. Smiling, he ties the end around his waist, hoping that even if he or Mora truly began to fall, that would save them, quickly he tied to thick knots of either end of his cloak, hoping that it would give them each a firmer handhold, then hauling his arm back; he prepared to toss the cloak.

“Mora! I’m going to toss you one end of my cloak, keep hold, and then I’ll drag you over. We’ve got rope from the others, so they can pull us up!”

Mora nodded frantically, her fear having finally robbed her of her voice.

Rumpel quickly tossed the end of the cloak, happy to see it reach Mora on the first try, he carefully braced his feet and was about to start pulling her across the space when the donkey, having found purchase on something, heaved itself almost entirely out of the mud, giving a huge kick to the wagon, and sending both the wagon and itself, down the slope. Mora screamed as the wagon over turned and Rumpel watched in horror as one of the donkey’s flailing hooves caught her in the head, with a desperate cry he launched himself to the wagon, managing to catch mother and daughter, shielding them with his own body as the wagon turned completely over, everything was a mess mud all around, the donkey crying, Mora bleeding and little Moraine screaming in terror. Something crunched in his leg and his middle was burning from what he vaguely recognized as the rope. Somehow the wagon flipped over again, and his leg began burning in earnest, but at least they were no longer trapped by it, leaving one arm still hooked around Mora, he raised the other, grasping the rope, and managing to right them a little more, and began using the not-injured leg to try to propel them forward

 At long last they reached to top, more mud than people and hands began patting at them, he cried out when someone had to cut the rope off, and blacked out when another touched his leg.

When he woke, it was to Milah’s tear stained face.

“Wha..what happened?” He asked; his head felt heavy, all of him felt heavy.

Milah gave a hiccoughing laugh. “You went a decided to be a hero is what, you save little Moraine, you know, everyone’s talking about it, how you wouldn’t let go, oh Rumpel they had to cut the rope out of your side! And your leg…Rumpel your leg…”

Rumpel closed his eyes, he could feel it now, a twisted wrongness. “I’m crippled aren’t I?”

Milah nodded, tears dripping down her face. “Yes, I think so the doctor and the midwife both checked and they’re pretty sure, it’s to damaged to ever be usable, it’s still there though, and you should be able to walk, just not…well.”

Rumpel nodded, trying to process it all, at least he still had his arms and his hands he thought, he could still spin and thus he could still support his wife. Thinking of Milah had him going over what she’d said. He blinked.

“Milah, you said I saved Moraine, what of Mora?” He asked.

Milah shook her head. “They think the donkey kicked her head,” Rumpel nodded, he’d seen that. “She was already dead when you brought her up.”

“What of little Moraine?” He asked. Poor babe, lost Mother and Father before she could even know what she’d lost.

Milah blinked, and then gave a small, hopeful smile. “Well, we’d been talking of starting a family, and you did save her, so I thought, everyone thought, that maybe, we would keep her? She’s no living kin. The other women have already gone over to pack up her parents things, and Donavan has said he’ll give us a goat, so that she’ll have milk…”

She trailed off, the hope in her eyes unmistakable. Rumpel sighed. Not that way he had intended to begin a  family with Milah, but it would be okay, they would get through this, and they’d make sure that their, and he smiled, their   _daughter_ knew of her other parents.

Seeing his smile, Milah turned and picked something up, turning back to him to slowly settle the sleeping baby against his (less) damaged side.

The baby sighed, a snuggled against him.

He jolted suddenly, the front! He was to have reported for training!

“Milah, I was drafted, I was…”

“Hush now,” she said, pressing her fingertips to his lips. “The blacksmith’s son was drafted too and he carries a letter from the doctor and the midwife, explaining what happened, that you decided to be a hero ahead of schedule. No one will expect you to fight with that leg.”

With that last worry settled and the warmth of being a father and of all things a hero filled him up and he slipped into sleep.

 

* * *

 

 The little seer, trapped in her wagon prison, clenched her teeth in fury. She had planned! She had waited! Rumpelstiltskin was to have come here! So she could lead him to the path of the Dark One, so he could take this curse from her. Now, now she was still trapped, and the future was foggy as to what might happen, Rumpelstiltskin would still become the Dark One, that she knew, but he would have no cause to seek her out, to want this power, for even as the Dark One, he would have his sons and daughters, he would not covet power, nor drive his children away with his evil…


	2. A knock at the door

The years since Rumpelstiltskin stopped being the son of a coward and became a village hero had seen an interesting thing happen. After taking in little Moraine, He and Milah had had the joy of finding themselves expecting another child. Little Baelfire was a welcomed edition and as adored as his sister. Rumpel did feel a tad concerned, for all she was a doting mother, some part of Milah held back, even from Baelfire, a child of her own womb. She left Rumpel with the children’s care as often as she could, preferring to take the walks to town to sell his wool, which, thanks to his shining moment of heroism, immortalized by Moraine’s continued presence, and his lame leg, got exceptionally good prices.

It wasn’t much, but it puzzled him sometimes, they were doing well, favorites of the village and had a peaceful wonderful life, what held her back? He didn’t let it trouble him though, and banished all worries to the distant corners of his mind.

Life was good, and they were content, when change came. One evening, when Moraine was verging on two and Balefire a healthy one year-old, an old woman came knocking on their door. Milah answered and welcomed the woman in, noticing that she was  holding a baby, and trailing along three slightly older children, the eldest girl carrying the second youngest, her brother holding to her apron string. They all filed into the house, and the old woman declined to sit, merely gesturing to the children accompanying her.

“I be the midwife for the next village over, these two and the wee’un are orphans now, their Papa died fighting the Ogres, and their Mama died birthing this one.” She hefted the baby she held and looked at them expectantly.

Milah gave him a confused but slightly panicked look and the older girl and boy looked up from the floor they’d been studying, anxiousness and grief etched into their thin little faces. Spotting the looks of bewilderment passing between Rumpel and Milah the Midwife began talking again, quickly, as though hawking wares to reluctant buyers.

“They be good children, and their parents owned some hens and a rooster, also a donkey, and ye may come and see what household possessions you would wish of tharn, and some lads from our village will help ye carry it back and build an extension on thy hut, if ye wish, they don’t come to ye empty handed. Girl and boy are strong workers, and the wee ‘uns will grow to be fine sons.

Rumpelstiltskin finally found his voice. “Why are you offering us children? I don’t quite understand.” The midwife blinked owlishly at him.

“We’ve heard talk of ye, even at our village and of what you did. You’re both good workers and kind people, you took in the little one ye saved and when this lot became orphaned yesterday, well, you were our only hope; most folk can’t take in this many, especially when they share no blood, but I hoped, ye would take ‘em.”

Milah tugged on his arm, and Rumpelstiltskin gestured for the woman to wait a moment.

Rumpel and Milah looked at one another after they got to the far corner of the hut.  They barely needed to speak, but a few whisper and some nodding later, they had their decision.

They walked back over the midwife, and Milah held out her arms for the baby, while Rumpel held his own hand out to the older ones. The two children rushed to him, the little one wiggling in his sisters arms, to young to understand what was happening really.

“We’ll take them in Ma’am,” Rumpelstiltskin said, “Milah will go back with you in the morning, to see to the house and animals.” The woman nodded, accepting their offer of a pallet by the fire, and Milah and Rumpel set about introducing themselves to their new children and the new children to Moraine and Baelfire.

The oldest child, the girl was seven, and named Rosalie, the eldest boy was Drinian, and four years old, the toddler was two, and named Connor, the baby was newborn and the midwife hadn’t named him. They asked the children if their parents had spoken of names, but they shook their heads. So Rumpelstiltskin asked what their fathers name was and thus the baby became Warren.

Over the next few days, adjustments were made and good on their word, after Milah took a wagon to the children’s previous village, and came back with chickens, a very nice table, more plates and mugs, clothes, blankets, food, and the new donkey, a few of the men from the village set about adding a backing to their hut and even put together a hen house for them.

The same goat that had served as Moraines wet nurse, once again aided in providing milk for little Warren.

Rosalie turned out to have quite the knack for spinning and Rumpel took her on as apprentice, just as his aunties had him, Drinian was willing to do most chores, though prone to moments of crying when he aided Milah or Rumpel in some task that reminded him of his parents.

At first the children simply called them Sir and Ma’am, but as the weeks passed and everyone adjusted to one another, Rumpel and Milah quickly became Mamma and Papa. They knew they’d never replace the children’s parents, but the children were young and wanted a family, they had let the older two chose items from their previous home to keep as memento’s, Drinian, his father’s hunting knife, and Rosalie her mother’s prized paisley shawl she won at a fair.

Things settled again, their village easily accepting the children into fold.

Then another knock came at the door…

 


End file.
